There’s this cabinet from probably somewhere around the turn of the last century. It’s no valuable antique by any means. My great-aunt had already used it as a paint cabinet in her (rather damp) cellar for 60+ years, and it’s sat in our carport as storage cum potting bench for another ten.

It’s a skeleton of a cabinet. A rotting skeleton at that with ample wood borer traces. But I’d kinda like to restore it. Or rather, make it into a usable kitchen cabinet that still retains some of it’s old-world charm. It’s too far gone for a proper restoration. It needs sundry parts replaced, and probably a sturdy re-enforcement of the back wall, if I don’t want it to collapse under whatever I put on top of it.

Anyway, today I cleaned it off and brought it inside, so I can keep working on it, even when the snow starts falling outside. So, that’s where I’ll be when I’m not writing. My man thinks I’m utterly demented, but he’s too much of a gentleman to say so. He even helped me bring it inside, which, I might add, means, middle of the living room. Yeah, he rocks. Hard.

When I’m writing, I’m currently re-writing. Bluewater Bay that is. Filling in holes, straightening plotlines, ironing out character motivations. Slowly, ever so slowly, it’s starting to turn from a first draft into a manuscript. Which is good, because I need to wrap it and get it out to betas, preferably before the line edits for Santuario II come back, which could be any day, now.